


Magical Healing Properties

by adorkablephil (kimberly_a)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Chicken Soup, Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, chicken soup was an existing tag, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberly_a/pseuds/adorkablephil
Summary: Phil’s sick and wants his mum’s chicken soup





	Magical Healing Properties

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my @phandomficfests bingo square “cooking lessons” (to finish off my first bingo card) on Tumblr, but I decided to use it as an opportunity to also write for a prompt @carryonmywaywardlester sent me more than a year ago. I swapped all the characters from the prompt, though, because I’m not really comfortable writing the Howell family (so I made Phil the sick one, instead of Dan).

“Hi, Kath? This is Dan. How are you? I hope you’re doing well. The thing is, this is going to sound mad, but I have a favor to ask you. Could I get your recipe for chicken soup? Give me a call when you get this message.”

Kathryn Lester called back only 20 minutes later, and was sweet as ever. “Why in the world would you boys need my recipe for chicken soup?” she asked with laughter in her voice.

“Phil has a flu,” Dan explained. “Nothing serious—you don’t need to worry—but he’s running a fever and you know how he gets when he’s really sick.”

Kath sounded knowing when she suggested, “A little delirious?”

“Yeah. He keeps asking for you and whining that he wants your chicken soup.”

Kathryn sounded honestly concerned when she asked, “Do you think I should come?”

“No, no,” Dan assured her. “I’ll let you know if it gets any worse, but right now … I just thought…”

“What is it you need, Dan?” Kathryn asked kindly. “Do you really want to try to make chicken soup?”

Dan sighed, then said, “Not just chicken soup— _your_  chicken soup. He’s being very insistent about that. Maybe it has magical healing properties.” They both chuckled.

“Well, okay. I can talk you through it,” Kath agreed.

 

* * *

 

Dan walked through Tesco, pushing the cart full of vegetables with one hand and holding his phone to his ear with the other. “Do I really need an entire chicken? I mean, there are only two of us.”

“You can freeze the leftovers,” Kath replied pragmatically.

“And it has to cook … does it really have to cook for two hours?”

“Well, more or less. Until the chicken falls off the bone.”

“So … I have to just keep picking up the chicken every once in a while to see if the meat falls off?” Dan asked in frustration.

“My chicken soup is more of an art than a science, Dan. You’ll know when the time is right,” she reassured him. Then she added with amusement in her tone, “But, yes, if you have to, then pick up the chicken every twenty minutes or so to see if the meat falls off.”

“How am I supposed to lift the chicken without boiling my hands?” Dan protested in horror.

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him.

 

* * *

 

Dan stared at the disaster their kitchen had become. Normally, he would clear things as he went along, but he’d had Kathryn on speaker the entire time, and so he’d been following her directions as fast as he could, and he didn’t want to wash dishes and not be able to hear her over the sound of running water.

It seemed like he’d been doing nothing but sweating over the stove all day, except for the morning’s marathon trip to Tesco. He had no idea how they were ever going to eat this much chicken soup, but if Phil wanted his mum’s chicken soup then Dan would make it happen.

“Could you wait a minute, Kath?” Dan asked. “I want to go check on Phil again.”

“Go right ahead, Dan, dear. Let me know how he’s doing.”

So while the mass of soup was simmering on the stove, Dan ran down the hallway to the bedroom and quietly pried open the door to look in on Phil. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and he was tossing restlessly in the bed. Dan ran back to the kitchen, told Kath quickly, “I’m getting him a glass of water,” and then filled a glass to take back to the bedroom. He went inside this time and sat on the edge of the bed. “Phil?” he said softly, setting the glass of water on the bedside table. He rested a hand on Phil’s bare shoulder and was concerned at the heat. He looked at his watch and decided that it was time Phil could take some more paracetamol, so he opened the bottle he had sitting there by the bed and shook two tablets into his hand.

“Phil, can you sit up a bit to take a couple tablets? They might make you feel better.”

Phil just groaned and turned away, mumbling something about his mum and paracetamol, then Dan thought he heard the words “chicken soup” again. “I’m going to get you some chicken soup,” Dan assured him gently. “But right now you need to take these tablets to try to bring down your fever.”

Phil raised up slightly to take the tablets, then drank thirstily at the water. Dan wiped Phil’s hair away from his face and kissed his cheek lightly. It was kind of sweaty and gross, but he loved him anyway.

“It has to be my  _mum’s_  chicken soup,” Phil grumbled hazily and then turned away again, throwing the blankets off his legs but wrapping his arms and chest into the duvet. Chills. Dan hated having the chills, feeling like his body was hot and cold at the same time.

Poor Phil.

“It’ll be your mum’s chicken soup,” Dan promised, then patted Phil’s bundled up shoulder tenderly before heading back out to the kitchen.

“He’s got chills,” Dan told Kathryn over the phone propped up on the counter, “but it still doesn’t seem too bad. He needs to sleep, and I gave him some paracetamol. He complained that he wants your soup again.”

“Well, then, let’s get back to work,” Kath replied.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Dan brought a bowl into the bedroom where Phil lay sleeping fitfully. At first, Dan considered letting him sleep, but then he remembered that Phil hadn’t eaten anything all day, and so decided it would be worth waking him up to give him a bit of nutrition.

“Phil,” he whispered, setting the bowl and spoon on the bedside table with the paracetamol bottle, a box of tissues, and the empty glass of water—he’d go refill that as soon as Phil had some soup. “Phil,” he coaxed, “I brought you some soup.”

“Don’t want your soup,” Phil fretted sleepily. “Want my mum’s chicken soup.” He turned away again.

“This  _is_  your mum’s chicken soup,” Dan insisted. “Just have a taste and see. Just one taste.”

Phil glared at him in mistrust, his eyes glassy with fever, but he did sit up and let Dan spoon some soup into his mouth. He closed his eyes and relaxed more than Dan had seen him do in two days. “It’s my mum’s soup,” Phil marveled, opening his eyes to gaze gratefully at Dan. “Is she here?”

Dan shook his head, but before Phil could look disappointed he added, “But  _I’m_  here. I’m always here for you, sweetheart. And your mum helped me make the soup for you, because we both love you so much. Will you have another spoonful?” Phil nodded, and then continued to eat until the bowl was empty, after which he cuddled into his blankets, looking less miserable and a bit comforted by the taste of the familiar family recipe.

Dan returned to the kitchen with the empty bowl and water glass, and Kath was still on the phone. They’d been on the phone together for hours now. “He ate the bowl of soup,” Dan told her, and they both sighed together in relief. “Apparently you helped me make it right.”

“You did wonderfully, Dan. Now, let me know if things get any worse, but I know you’ll take lovely care of my boy. You always do.”

Tears sprang to Dan’s eyes at her trust in him. “Thank you, Kath. That means a lot to me. And thank you for all your help today. I could never have done it without you.”

“Of course not,” Kath replied pertly. “It’s  _my_  chicken soup!” And they both chuckled.

“Okay,” Dan said. “I’m going to take him some water and sit with him for a while. Maybe get a cool cloth to wipe his face.”

“He’ll like that,” Kath said softly. After a moment she added, “Thank you, Dan.”

Dan smiled at the phone on the counter and said softly, “You’re welcome. I love you all—you know that.”

“We do,” Kath replied. “And we love you, too, Dan. Take good care of yourself while you taking care of our boy. Because you’re our boy, too.”

Dan felt a wave of gratitude and affection that nearly brought tears to his eyes. “Thank you for that.” And before she could say anything else sappy enough to make him actually cry, he ended the call by saying, “I’ll phone you if anything changes—whether he gets better or worse—but right now I want to go take him some water. Talk to you soon, and thanks for the help with the soup.”

“You’re welcome, Dan,” she replied, and they both hung up. They’d been on the phone together longer than Dan’s longest Skype calls with Phil back in 2009.

Dan filled the glass with water, then wet a tea towel and wrung it out so that it was just cool and damp … and then he went back to take care of his Phil.


End file.
